Spilled Tea Stains: A Theatre Kid’s Reckoning with Gayle & Gossip Culture
In 1992, I met a character who never left me. Her name was Lizzie from 110 in the Shade—kind, cautious, a spinster who loved deeply but didn’t believe she deserved it in return. That was my first Broadway show. I think it was Karen Ziemba onstage, and funny enough, her character shared my last name. Back then, I was a kid who just wanted to sing and dance; for whomever wanted to watch. If you'd told me I wouldn’t perform in NYC again after 1994, I’d laugh in your face.
Fast forward to 2007—I saw 110 in the Shade again. Mind your business—I’m allowed to revisit a show. But this time, the character Lizzie was played by a black woman; she was certainly classically trained. Her voice didn’t just hit notes—it held pain, life, and truth. I cried, of course. I’m a theatre kid. That’s what we do when the performance reaches into those places where we rarely allow light into.
A few years later, I’m watching Grey’s Anatomy spinoff called Private Practice and bam—there she is–Lizzie; Audra McDonald. And from that moment, I followed her like I owned stock.
Some actresses chase the spotlight; Audra McDonald conjures it. It’s like the character calls her, beforehand saying I want you to bring me to life. Not the other way around. She’s a masterclass wrapped in grace, discipline, and thunder.
Now, in my own classroom—because those who don’t perform, teach—I try to instill two mantras:
What someone thinks about you is none of your business.
Spilled tea stains.
Simple. But hard to teach in this era of comment sections and endless scrolling. Social media has warped folks into believing they deserve full access to people’s lives. A 30-second clip drops and the replies demand: “Where’s the full story?” “I need the other angle.” As if what you got wasn’t a gift.
This entitlement extends far beyond TikTok, Snap Chat or IG; It’s baked into culture now—especially how we consume Black women in the spotlight.
So imagine my disappointment, having to hear Gayle—stir up mess while drinking my morning coffee. Instead of honoring Audra’s groundbreaking portrayal of Rose in Gypsy—the first Black woman to do so since the show’s 1959 debut— or the implication and historical precedence being set with changing the race of the main character and cast or how the narrative of the story now weaves a different America. Gayle chose to bring up what Patti LuPone said about her in The New Yorker.
Now let’s pause: Audra’s performance is history-making. She's playing Rose, the mother of all musical theatre mothers, and doing it her way. But Gayle couldn’t let the moment breathe. She tried to turn it into a Real Housewives confessional.
Here’s the thing—Whatever Patti said, it’s written in black and white. Whatever she felt could’ve been addressed woman-to-woman, artist-to-artist. Instead, she threw shade in print, and Gayle carried it to camera hoping Audra would fight back.
But Audra, in true high-class, frequency-rising fashion! She simply said: “You’d have to ask her.” And that’s how you clear a room without raising your voice!
Gayle was being messy. She wanted to go viral. What she got was grace. And as someone who’s been called into Audra’s orbit since 2007, I knew she wouldn’t take the bait. Because here’s the truth: when you repeat someone else’s words for attention, you become the gossip. You think you’re just "sharing tea" but what you’re doing is casting spells with words that stain—relationships, reputations, and rooms you’re not even in.
And let’s be real: What Gayle did is not journalism it’s psychology and she did it for the reaction, the attention.
I am conflicted because I understand the journey that all Black women experience. However, damn. At what point do we deconstruct our own anti-blackness and begin creating our own standards? My high school economics teacher told me once, “Many before you have settled for proximity and that does nothing but put you in position. And they settle for proximity because they don’t know that it’s positionality that they want. Positionality is understanding that you are the position, the moment and what it represents; which means you control the narrative. And in a world full of black erasure and anti-christian nationalist rhetoric; controlling the narrative is power. Power in this moment would have looked like not asking the question in spite of your producer pushing you to.
Gayle sullied what should’ve been a celebration of Black artistry, legacy, and mastery.
Audra McDonald is not just a performer. She is a living, breathing masterclass. She doesn’t perform for the chaos; she shows up, gives everything to the stage, and exits knowing she’s left behind something holy.
So yes—I love musicals. I cry at great performances. And I’ll always cry for moments from characters like Lizzie and Rose, sung from a throat that looks and sounds (not quite) like mine.
But let’s be clear: all skinfolk not kinfolk. And in 2025, a Black woman finally played Rose. The moment should’ve been sacred. Instead, we had to watch someone try to turn it into clickbait.
But Audra? She didn’t flinch. And that’s why she remains a beacon. A signal. A call.